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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26533816">Overworked</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferrety/pseuds/Ferrety'>Ferrety</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pacific Rim (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Comfort, Drabble, Exhaustion, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship, but can be seen as the beginning of, hurt and comfort i guess, math talk, they're very tired, unbetaed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:02:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,297</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26533816</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferrety/pseuds/Ferrety</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann's a mathematician. He defined the function of his exhaustion long ago, and knows to beware of Stage Three. And yet.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Overworked</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was told i should write more Newmann and i react extremely well to positive reinforcement.<br/>Also I got struck by the Manic Mood again and I should have gone to bed two hours ago jdfkjfkj<br/>Unbetaed. Probably barely coherent. It's Overwork Time, babey !</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Even if the PPDC's budget hadn't been quite thoroughly beheaded, it probably wouldn't have been able to cover the costs of the frankly inhuman amount of extra hours Newton and Hermann were pulling. In fact, the economic system being what it was, it probably wouldn't even have attempted to (what was this, France? Who gets paid for extra hours nowadays?), especially considering that this was the goddamn <em>army</em>, and certainly not a mild office job with gentle perks. They were in the middle of a <em>war</em>, anyway, so nobody was counting. They certainly weren't.</p>
<p>Hermann could feel himself entering Stage Three.</p>
<p>Being a mathematician, he had long ago worked out the specific function and effects of his fatigue. It was an exponentiation, which could be summarized, if one were to go liberaly about writing equations, by f(exhaustion,time)=overwork^time+hindrances. The result was a very accurate estimation of his mood and efficiency, where his mood got increasingly more snappish, and his efficiency was the direct inverse of that.</p>
<p>So, basically, f(exhaustion,time)=overwork^time+hindrances=intensity of terrible mood = 1/calculating speed=level of inefficiency.</p>
<p>Really quite simple.</p>
<p>Of course, in this case, the hindrances were also another function, one directly linked to one Newton Geizler, whose exact overwork formula he hadn't quite worked out yet.</p>
<p>Hermann's chalk screeched against his board, and he fought the urge to close his eyes for a moment.</p>
<p>They were on their fourteenth hour of breakless work. Hermann wasn't sure what Newton was doing that couldn't wait for the next day. He was just a biologist. Well, the best biologist. But the point was, whatever he was doing could probably wait, while Hermann's work could <em>not</em>, because he was <span>trying</span> to anticipate the next kaiju attack, which was due any day now, though he could not say exactly when for certain because he forgot to carry a one two hours ago and had to start over from that, and he was just so <em>tired</em> but it needed to be done so that they stood at least a fighting chance, and there was <em>Newton</em> and his <em>music</em> and <em>why wouldn't the man just go piss off to sleep ?</em></p>
<p>This was stage three : he was exhausted and ready to snap at the slightest thing. That, at least, would wake him up a little.</p>
<p>Hermann rested his head against the chalkboard for a second.</p>
<p>Newton's fatigue equation had to be logarithmic. Because of course it would.</p>
<p>Unlike Hermann, who got steadily crankier at a slowly increasing speed until he spiked towards his limit (where the only option was to scream at <em>something</em>), Newton didn't handle the initial hit of fatigue really well.</p>
<p>He very quickly started complaining about being tired, moaning about overtime, wanting to go hunker down in his room and watch a movie, nagging Hermann about dinner, and so forth. That, usually, corresponded to Hermann's very mild initial plateau of fatigue-induced displeasure, which meant that while it was hardly a pleasant experience to hear Newton whine, Hermann could just ignore it. At worse, he'd give him a well-aimed retort, and that'd be that.</p>
<p>Then, after the quick worsening of his mood, Newton would reach the mild mania phase. His music would switch from old school punk rock to filthy-sounding electronic music ; he'd bang his fingers around, exclaim loudly about finding his second breath or whatever he was calling it, talk and jump around like all his social filters got turned off to save energy.</p>
<p>It wasn't much worse than the complaining, and, usually, Hermann was only reaching the slowly increasing slope of his aimless anger, so it was easy enough to tell Newton to turn off this racket, and maybe try shutting up of an hour or so.</p>
<p>So far, so good. They still weren't at eachother's throat.</p>
<p>But then. Stage three of Newton's exhaustion.</p>
<p>It crept slowly on him. Slowly, and quietly.</p>
<p>That was the most unsettling thing about it : Newton just... went quiet.</p>
<p>First, he'd stop bobbing along the terrible club music he had previously insisted on blasting. Then, he'd lower the volume a little, as it started bothering him. And then, slowly, the electronic music got replaced by softer songs. Guitar. Piano. Sad love songs he very rarely hummed along. His gaze would get glassy, and he'd get slow.</p>
<p>And unfortunately for him, that was when Hermann entered his own Exhaustion Stage Three : Boundless Rage.</p>
<p>"Can you turn this damn thing <em>off?</em> I am <em>trying</em> to <em>think!"</em></p>
<p>Newton slowly raised his head towards him. Everything about him was slow and clumsy by then, and Stage Three Hermann couldn't stand it. He wanted to shake him, slap him, to scream at him to pull it together!</p>
<p>"Oh. Sorry, man. I'll cut it when this song finishes."</p>
<p>"I don't want you to wait for the <em>end of the song</em>, I want you to cut it <em>now</em>, Newton!"</p>
<p>Newton pouted.</p>
<p>"But I kinda like this song, dude. It's only three minutes!"</p>
<p>He wasn't even snapping back. Hermann wanted to strangle him. Where was this accommodating Newton when he really wanted him? And why was he placating <em>now</em>, when Hermann <em>wanted</em> him to argue back, to get some blood pumping, to get some itching scratched?</p>
<p>"Ah, yes. Your legendary love of poetry. What is it now? Some sad man who got dumped? Do you <em>have</em> to listen endless iterations of the same lame story?"</p>
<p>Newton looked affronted.</p>
<p>Good. An affronted Newton was an alive one.</p>
<p>"Herms, that is so reductive of you. First of all, he didn't get dumped, it's an impossible love, that is completely different-"</p>
<p>"<em>Completely.</em>" Hermann sneered,</p>
<p>"And! I don't see what's wrong with listening to different versions of the same song, alright! What are you doing, using endless iterations of the same basics math formulas, anyway?"</p>
<p>"Well gee, I am so glad you asked, Newton. See, I am trying to find a way to win the war, but there's an overgrown teenager still stuck in his sad edgy boy phase causing a commotion in my lab-"</p>
<p>"That's <em>our</em> lab, and I'm not-"</p>
<p>"And I can't <em>focus</em> with the sound of all that goo, which means I won't be able to predict the next kaiju attack-"</p>
<p>"So what, it's my fault if we lose, is what you're saying ? Maybe you're just a shit mathematician, ever think about that, Herms-"</p>
<p>"and so yes, we will lose the war because the scruffy punk just had to listen to a sad love song. Why do you even listen to this teenage girl trash, anyway? Does this resonate with you, Newton? Like your dumb punk rock shtick, but this time it's boo-hoo I Am A Sad And Lonely Man edition? Do you listen to Coldplay and go like oh, this is just like my life?"</p>
<p>He expected to be cut off again, to be given a reason to raise his tone again.</p>
<p>But instead, Newton just stared at him, eyes wide, looking stricken.</p>
<p>He didn't say anything.</p>
<p>Hermann had run out of steam. He couldn't think of anything else to add to keep building on this specific line of attack, he didn't know how to move onto some other subject to jab at Newton, and he certainly didn't know what to do with the still mounting rage he could feel rising in his throat.</p>
<p>He wanted to stay angry, he wanted to scream himself hoarse, he wanted Newton to provide a reason to do so. But instead, Newton was just looking at him with that hurt expression, and Hermann, on top of his fatigue and frustration, was starting to feel a little bit like an asshole.</p>
<p>Newton made a sniffing noise.</p>
<p>"Whatever."</p>
<p>He pulled off his gloves, threw them onto his counter. He cut off his radio.</p>
<p>And then walked out, without another look at Hermann.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This wasn't unusual, really. It had happened before. They'd argue, and Newton would stomp off in a huff, clearly angry, but then the next morning he'd come back and they would pretend nothing happened, and no feelings were hurt.</p>
<p>(Hermann could only speak for himself, but that was enough to know that some feelings were, in fact, hurt.)</p>
<p>Which meant it was okay, mostly. Hermann could return to his calculation, this time without any hindrances (Newton), and it would work out fine. He felt like a dick, but that was not a novelty (and he hated that it wasn't, a little, only he couldn't stop.), so that was probably also inconsequential.</p>
<p>Probably, yes.</p>
<p>What would be an accurate equation to evaluate the probability of this being « okay »?</p>
<p>Hermann sighed, and dropped his chalk.</p>
<p>He hadn't made any progress since Newton was gone.</p>
<p>Usually, when Newton left, it was because they'd argued so loud, so hard, so long, that it was the only way not to devolve into a crass, and unfair, fistfight. He left with shouts and raised hands, to cool off somewhere else. He did not leave quietly, his hands shoved into his pockets, a hunch on his back and the suggestion of a sniffle in his breath.</p>
<p>Hermann closed his eyes against the relentless orange light of the lab.</p>
<p>He was so tired.</p>
<p>This was Stage Four, he thought dimly. This was stand or crash.</p>
<p>He leaned against his desk, looking at his chalkboard, feeling, not for the first time, dwarfed. The amount of work he already did, and the amount of it remaining. Heaps, hills, moutains and oceans of it. He was going to drown.</p>
<p>He was going to <em>crash</em>.</p>
<p>He was not going to crash it in the lab, though. Absolutely not. Hermann could feel the wreck coming towards him, he could feel his brain ready to crumple, and he had <em>rules.</em></p>
<p>He grabbed his cane and forced himself to walk, because <em>he had rules about this</em>, and he wasn't going to crash in the lab.</p>
<p>Walking back to his quarter was one of the most excruciating experience of his life. He wanted to be there already, on his too-thin too-hard bed, where nobody would hear him start to cry into his pillow. He wanted out of his sweaty, gross-feeling clothes, to feel the softness of his well-worn pajamas against his skin. He wanted a shower, and a hot drink, and soft sheets, and a hand in his hair and someone to tell him that it was okay, he could rest, he did all that he could, and he wanted... He wanted that hand, that voice to be Newton's.</p>
<p>His cane clunked against the floor, and he breathed heavily.</p>
<p>He couldn't crash yet. He had to apologize. Maybe, if he apologized, it'd be okay. Maybe Newton would offer a reconciliatory handshake, and that single touch would have to support Hermann through the meltdown he could feel incoming.</p>
<p>Wearily, he hobbled towards Newton's door instead.</p>
<p>Had he been less tired, he would have considered Newton's rest. He would have wondered what to say, and fumbled at heartfelt speeches in his head. He would have felt awkward, and clumsy, and he would have talked himself out of it, since, afterall, Newton was probably already asleep, and certainly didn't want to see him anyway, so there was really no point in worsening an already terrible situation-</p>
<p>He was knocking on Newton's door.</p>
<p>After a very, very long while (though Hermann was hardly objective at the moment), the door opened on a soft, bleary-looking Newton, clad in an old jurassic park t-shirt and dinosaur boxers.</p>
<p>Hermann felt himself warm up to the point of tears.</p>
<p>"What do you want <em>now?</em>" Newton asked, and he was probably going for snappish, but his voice was sleep-rough and Hermann was exhausted.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry," he said.</p>
<p>He probably looked it too, because his eyes were itching and his vision was going blurry.</p>
<p>Oh, no. He was going to crash on Newton.</p>
<p>He had rules. He turned around quickly to retreat before Newton could see him, but a hand on his wrist stopped him.</p>
<p>"Herms?"</p>
<p>Hermann didn't turn around.</p>
<p>"That's <em>Hermann</em>."</p>
<p>The hand on his wrist was gently pulling him.</p>
<p>Hermann was going to weep.</p>
<p>"Yes, yes, whatever. I'm angry at you, so I get to call you Herms."</p>
<p>Hermann tried not to shake at this, but it was a lost cause.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry," he repeated, wobblier this time.</p>
<p>He wished he could explain himself. He wished he were eloquent. He wished he weren't so <em>tired</em>.</p>
<p>"Hermann?" Newton repeated, with definite concern in his voice now.</p>
<p>He pulled again, and Hermann had to turn towards him again, though he tried to keep his gaze adverted.</p>
<p>That meant he couldn't see Newton's expression, and could only hear a sigh.</p>
<p>"Hermann. I'm tired. You're tired. This <em>stinks</em>. We can't do this tonight."</p>
<p>Hermann nodded wordlessly. His throat was clenching, anyway. He made a move to go, but Newton wouldn't let him.</p>
<p>"Come on. Get inside. We'll hug it out, man. You can go when we're done."</p>
<p>He couldn't help it. His head snapped towards Newton, to look for the trick, the deceit, because he couldn't possibly mean-</p>
<p>But Newton's face was soft, tired. His half-hooded eyes only let out the barest amount of light, and he looked ready to drop. His nose was sort of red.</p>
<p>Hermann followed him inside. He let Newton guide him towards the bed, make him sit, set his cane against the bedside table. When Newton divested him of his jacket, he didn't protest.</p>
<p>And when Newton cradled him into his arms, he went easily.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And if he did crash on Newton against all rules or reasons, well. Newton had a hoard of tissue boxes, soft shirts to lend him, and absolutely no qualms about Hermann clutching at him as if he were an oversized teddy bear.</p>
<p>In fact, it seemed that was exactly what he needed, too.</p>
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